Daring Greatly

Problems galore, it’s a literal war front,

The call is strong, to pull off a stunt.

The economy provides cover, lets me lie low,

In the age of AI layoffs, passion needs to burn slow.

If not a prisoner of the economy, I would have gone for the kill,

Let the situation improve, before showing valour, pay the bill.

It’s not just a risky proposition, where there’s a probability of loss,

It’s daring greatly despite knowing, your life may go for a toss.

It’s true that the more I dare, the more I vote for myself,

The economic excuse cripples, this adventure I can’t help.

Due to a lack of courage, I can’t put my life on hold,

Never mind the bourses crashing, or tanking prices of gold.

To dare greatly within constraints, is not a foolishness or crime,

You’ll never be able to leap, if you just wait for the right time.

PS: This poem was partially inspired by reading this Medium article and was first published on my Medium blog here.

To Pee or Not to Pee

I have a mild urge, to urinate,

No restrooms in sight, it'll have to wait.

I'm firmly in control, calling the shots,

But the experimenter, made me drink a lots. 

The urge has become moderate, pressure building up,

Have to control my impulses, can't leave in a huff.

The impulse control spreads, to other self-control domains,

I give up a small treat now, so tomorrow's luncheon remains.

The urge is now urgent, I have to bladder void,

Experiments like this, in the future, I'll avoid.

I'm almost like a drunkard, deprived of sleep,

Can't think through straight, or my attention keep.

The urge is fulfilled, now I no longer need to pee,

This research got an IgNobel, not everything's about me.

PS: This poem was inspired by the research that got awarded the IgNobel prize for Medicine in 2011. 

An On-Demand Poem

I've all but forgotten, the art and craft,

Some rhymes, some rhythm, just add to cart,

On checkout, don't forget, to add the coupon code,

Enjoy within minutes, a limerick or an ode.

Most days it's the standard, 14-line drills,

I can tweak the format, or make a quick one, no frills.

I'll customise the sonnet, to suit your taste,

Please savour the delicacy, don't gobble in haste.

You demand a sentence-long poem, and I certainly can,

Maybe Haiku is the template, worth your attention span.

I can stretch the sentence long, or make a short,

In the age of reels, I need to adapt, you exhort.

Playing with words but losing its soul,

Hashtag WorldPoetryDay, I have met my goal.

Being a Poppy

Don’t be afraid to be a poppy, in a field full of daffodils,
Be it their scorn or enchantment, it's all grist for the mill.
They laughed at Einstein, they also laughed at Bozo, the clown,
If you don’t blossom or break through the cracks, on you I’ll forever frown.

For when a poppy pushes up, through the dark earth to the spring,
It just knows in its heart that sunshine spring will bring.
It shows courage against odds and deeply values life,
And believes in miracles that are born of strife.

When Lady April brings the daffodils, the springing grasses, and warm April rains,
Does your Poppyness torment you, fill you with doubt and pain?
Would it reassure you if I pointed, I’ve been the odd man out,
Does that message assuage you, so you can stop whining and shout?

Whether to be a poppy or a daffodil, I have not given you the choice,
This whole piece is a dramatic monologue, where, my dear, you don’t have a voice!

PS: This poem was written as a response to this prompt on Scrittura and first published on Medium here.

Fallen

When all around you is winter, it's folly to grow shoots,

Let go of the leaves and flowers, just focus on your roots.

In summer the leaves are assets- they give you bread and wine,

In winter sans the sun's sweet help, losing them would be so fine. 

Oh behold the twist of fate, they are now a liability,

By losing water, to leave you dead, is their new ability.

When you brush aside, let leaves fall, is that being opportunistic?

Are you ashamed, of your giving up, as you're reduced to a naked stick?

I might be dead on the outside, I am growing my roots deep,

I know I'll welcome leaves again, so on their passing I don't weep.

I use this time to build reserves, I trust the wheel will turn,

The fallen leaves become compost, that's the way I churn.

When all around you is winter, surely, the spring is round the block,

For all my bravado and wisdom, the fallen leaves still mock.

Holi Fun

From my 7th-floor balcony, I watch the rowdy crowd,

Close the soundproof windows, to drown music that's loud.

A part of me wants to come down, join in all the fun,

But for the most part, I look down, at the nuisance for one.

Throw colors on passersby, greet strangers with a warm wish,

Observe religious prohibitions, like not eating meat or fish.

Haven't I evolved beyond this? I am no longer a child,

How can I let my hair down, and like others, become wild?

Doorbell rings, I'm surrounded by hooligans,

They drag me down, and make me play with water guns.

I hesitate initially, then let all hell break loose,

Drench the others at will, and paint them as I choose.

In a crowd to lose yourself, is so liberating and free, 

That the festivities are fun and harmless, is the real key.

Product vs Service

Let go of the service mindset, become a cool product,  

Your value should compound over time, and scale you must.

To remain a coach is a folly, when you can write a how-to-coach guide,

To sell, you must be visible, and not beneath your client work hide.

For a coach has limited time slots, while with a guide, you can motivate,

And fill your coffers with money, and have a larger impact, my mate.

That the how-to guide needs a different skill, is besides the point,

You'd better transform and get the Midas touch, don't dare you us disappoint.

You say you have packaged yourself nicely, the trick is how to distribute,

How to capture the heart of young coaches, who will be floored by your repute

To shape them and their clients, you can author books or create a course,

You can go on speaking engagements, and thereby set forth the discourse. 

If money were not a factor, would I make myself a product?

I'll write poems for impact, and for healing relational work conduct.

Work Leisure Integration

A poem a day, I choose to write,

As night befalls, ideas take flight.

The inner drive, bleeds through next day,

I strive hard at work, and longer stay.

The hour spent juggling, words and rhyme,

As I hone my craft, lose sense of time.

The same absorption, I take to work,

The mastery mindset, becomes a quirk.

The finished product, bridges hearts, hooks you,

Makes me bond with audience, that's sensitive too.

The service orientation, and the community high,

Reaps dividends in workplace, makes me the cool guy.

It's more than a hobby, it's a serious pursuit,

That it makes my days bearable, is a point moot. 

Man and Superman

Bent and broken, into a better shape,

Adversity moulds me, into a man with a cape.

I don't become bitter, use it as a springboard, 

To release the strength, that was inside stored.

I still dread and wonder, am I worthy of my pain?

Sacrifices notwithstanding, did morals go down the drain?

To survive and emerge stronger, is not always good,

I suffered, but in vain, for myself did I stood?

Would it have been better, for me to destruction choose?

Than to survive, or even flourish, and myself bit by bit lose?

What use is victory, when I am no longer myself?

In the quest for future, should I not on the past dwell?

When I started my dream, was to be a good human being,

To remain human despite setbacks, is incredibly freeing.

Setting the Mood

Tune the strings first, then set the bass right,

Fiddle with the gain, till the sound's to your delight.

Practice solo daily, before that electrifying performance,

To set the stage on fire, first go through the hell of endurance.

   

Sit on a bridge for hours, catch waterlilies in varied light,

Mix the various pigments, till you get the hue that's bright.

Sketches and notes yield, to the masterpiece in oil,

You have to paint a million perspectives, can't shy from toil. 

Detach from what the day served, write to a prompt few lines,

Let the dust settle down a bit, to uncover what the heart pines.

Scribble in your diary or online, variations on a theme,

Discard what doesn't nourish you, make it last more than a meme.

If you wish I'll pen another poem, at your whim and my will,

But first I need the day to set mood, so that with 14 lines I can kill.

Being Gritty

The goal is clear, mocks me from afar,

Guides my actions, like the North Star.

Can I exchange the dream? Have I traded too low?

Should I burst like a nova, or keep burning slow? 

The passion is apparent, makes me come alive,

Every step of the journey, I give myself a high five. 

Energy invested here, could it other parts drain?

Should I hoard the thunder, or let it pour and rain?

The persistence is astonishing, I've walked a mile long,

To abandon at this juncture, on many levels, is so wrong. 

Could I dig a different place, where my efforts will bear fruit?

Is calling out the sunk cost fallacy, to myself, a bit rude?

If you insist, I'll reassess, but I know I'll stay the course,

This work is so important, that for all lives I'll endorse.

Heart Brain Tussle

Seen through my wounds, the world appears red,

I want it to fade and disappear, as I toss in my bed.

The morning sunrise, doesn't feed and sustain,

My heart has stopped beating, it's all the way brain. 

The brain calculates, who to trust and how much,

I'm always on the lookout, for new wounds as such.

Once a victim, now a survivor, the label doesn't help,

At the slightest slight, I get triggered, and go for the scalp.

My past defines me; I can't afford another defeat,

I can't let you cheat me; I'll never get back on my feet.

You may be an angel in disguise, I'll give it a pass,

When I'm bleeding profusely, cauterization seems a farce.

You want to hurt me further, when I'm already hurt and clearly in pain,

My heart is not convinced, though my brain realizes it's for long-term gain.

The Golden Pursuit

I need to rake in the moolah, life is short, 

It'll ensure stability- you gently exhort.

Wealth once accumulated, takes time to diminish,

The race is about survival, from start to finish.

I need to rake in the moolah, life is uncertain,

Without money to flaunt, it's a tad less fun.

I need to up the Joneses, have discretionary spends,

With me on the top, alone, is how I know it ends. 

I need to rake in the moolah, life is unlived,

It's an empty canvas, that with money can be filled.

Untethered from work, I can write sonnets at will,

Do charity, create impact, with a note two birds kill.

Money is not the enemy, it is the reasons we covet it for,

Pursue money all you want, don't let it tarnish your golden core.

Different Lives, Different Masters

To sit on a pile of cash, or bond with someone dear, 

Some aspire to be on the top 10 lists, others leaving no legacy fear.

Some are drawn to how they can drive others, others driven by personal growth,

Some want to attract and be beautiful, though they may get burned in the process like a moth.   

Fame, power, wealth are the anchors, that keep many a people afloat,

That love and service could be a lifeline, they don't know- they never sailed that boat.

All their life spent to earn enough, so they can pay a higher bill,

It costs them health and peace of mind, and increases their chance of being ill. 

You become what you aspire for, you become what you behave,

When goals are not steeped in your soul, even after achieving you crave.

When you are driven by care for others, and want to serve and deepen ties,

You are happy and more satisfied, you can overthrow materialist lies.

On the death bed you never regret, how you could have earned even more,

Only that you could have loved and lived well, and left this world better than before.

Pacing Myself

Suffering from diabetes, I have been advised brisk walk,

I prefer a leisurely stroll, where with friends I can talk.

Chats and gossips done, the walk feels less of a task,

Amidst laughter and tomfoolery, I can let go of my mask.

 

Walking collectively, poses a challenge of sorts, 

That the group mirrors my rhythm, what are the odds?

Some chug along fast, others force me to slow down.

I can't split the group in two, or all around me frown.

So I'm forced to walk, at a slightly unnatural pace,

With the athletes amongst us, I literally run to not lose face.

While with others who are, more carefree and laid back,

I have to goad them into action, lest they be left behind the pack.

In any human endeavor, there's a dynamic at play,

To walk beside the slowest person, I'd prefer any day. 

On Being A Survivor

Fired on an email, or en masse over a Zoom call,

Escorted out of the building, and made to feel small.

The reasons given are pragmatic- you did't perform well, 

We bulk-hired in anticipation, but the services didn't sell. 

There is an economic slowdown, AI has come for your jobs,

We need to label you the bottom 10%, never mind if that dignity robs.

Those of you who are spared, must be grateful, heave a sigh of relief,

That you become mistrustful, is beyond comprehension, what's your beef?

You are the last man standing, why be bitter and hurt?

Rejoice in the dry promotion, stop wondering if it's worth!

Why feel responsible and guilty, for the ones who have been laid off,

Don't even think of leaving the organisation, which has your interests sold off.

Anger, depression, guilt and resentment- it's more severe for those who remain,

We don't just have to support those impacted, but also hide and hoard our pain.

Getting Philosophical

Look inwards, acknowledge your past, inside lurks a shadow self,

For all your well-intentioned vows, self-sabotage you couldn't help.

Enough of curating and licking your wounds; they have almost become an identity,

Take one hard look and let go henceforth; don't keep wallowing in self-pity.

Plans collapse, you lose control, and hit the absurd wall of reality,

Your Sisyphean resolve to shoulder the boulder, neither the world cares, nor the city.

Stop repeating the lies, good wins in the end, the universe doesn't owe you nothing,

Revolt if you must, do what needs to be done, let your existence be by itself a thing.

They say there's no built-in meaning to things- you're not trapped, you can finally break free,

If the river of life has no bridge to walk over, you can create one and a Superman be.

Pour yourself into what gives meaning to you; let naysayers dismiss it as a frivolous fantasy,

Decide once and remain committed for life- life wasn't supposed to be all roses and easy.

Jung helps you drop the mask, Camus unmasks the absurd, Neitzche points what to do next,

I may think that poetry is my only salvation, but it's a daily salve for my soul at best.

Which Way To Go?

Lost in the labyrinth, the only way out is through,

The more I bided my time, the more the creepers grew.

They tightened their grip around, I'm feeling claustrophobic,

The feet are in full-scale panic, only the face is strained, but stoic.

The wiggle room is gone, there's nowhere to maneuver,

The shadow looms large, of the approaching Minotaur.

My hand tugs desperately, at the Ariadne's thread,

Should I retrace the path, or move forward and be dead.

For the Minotaur needs to be killed, but am I up to the task,

Should I risk my life and limb? Is being left alone too much to ask?

Why is greatness thrust upon me, have to either kill or be slain?

Either be a hero or die a martyr, can't from this drama I refrain?

You could have vacillated all you liked, before setting foot in the maze,

Now's the time for action- either burn or go in a blaze.

Not Another Techie-led Platform

Aren't you an IITian by background? How come mental health care?

You don't have the relevant degree, is building in this domain fair?

This space is already crowded, with technologists-founders at large,

Please launch a QComm startup instead, don't make of this field a farce.

There, you can exploit all you want, the gig workers and DPs,

Leverage innovative business models, such as commission-based or platform fees.

We deserve to be paid better; it's not just an hour of talking cure,

It's decades of accumulated wisdom, but you'll not get it for sure.

You may have the entrepreneurial bent, or the business skills;  

And the sad reality is, at the end, we all have to pay the bills,

But therapy work is exhausting; all we need is the human touch,

That you build an ethical product, is that asking too much?

My background disqualifies me; I may not have pockets that are deep,

But what I'm building will help, and not harm, is a promise I can keep. 

New Year Musings

Bash the resolutions, or bash the New Year,

A beginning is exciting, fills with hope, my dear.

The skeptics may forewarn, that by Feb-end it'll all fizzle,

Even if on the back burner, let your dreams simmer and sizzle.

You need a periodic checkpoint, however contrived and artificial,

Where you can assess anew, what's possible, what can be made real.

What you have already accomplished, what still awaits to be born,

What's sustaining and enduring, and what's a passing storm.

What breathes life as an intention, can with actions, and support, snowball,

If you want the glory of the Hero's Journey, you have to respond to the call.

If you hesitate, give heed to cynics, you'll never start on that Quest,

You may not become a public Fool, but will be crowned 'also ran' at best.

Some make it about goals, new habits, or fresh systems in place,

To me, a New Year is about New Quests, and renewed faith in God's grace.